His Shadow
by Eternal-Night-Ride
Summary: One-shot. When the hero - the light of the Universe - falls, everything goes dark. She fumbles for anything that could retain the memory. And finds it in white, white hair. Set ten years after Alien Force, in an alternate universe.


**His Shadow**

Pairing: Albedo/Julie

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: One-shot. When the hero - the light of the Universe - falls, everything goes dark. She fumbles for anything that could retain the memory. And finds it in white, white hair. Set ten years after Alien Force, in an alternate universe. Inspired by My World by SR-71.

* * *

The silent hall was flooded with the minute sounds of the pitter-patter of her shoes. Dark brown eyes stared at the looming metal door that seemed far too intimidating and unwelcoming to enter. She wondered whether she should declare her presence on the intercom.

The man she was about to meet was, as she remembered from tales - a little painful to dredge even after five years - rather irate. Frustration from the torture of possessing a body not his own had done even worse on his patience.

Surprisingly, they'd never met. Even with joining the Alien Force team, they never crossed paths. All confrontations with this being in the past had been handled by the old team so when she was formally inducted, he was jailed. After the change in circumstances, she only saw him fighting as other types of aliens. Never, ever as the image that haunted her dreams.

Pressing the button on the intercom, she spoke meekly, "Hello, I was sent to bring in your medication." That was mostly the reason why she was there, since she was the member of the team who bothered to take formal medical training. Majority of the creatures in the squad could now be medically attended to. Of course, she couldn't possibly deny to herself that there was a private agenda of wanting to privately see this creature.

Curiosity. Closure.

Just the sight of him could probably give this to her. Maybe.

His cousin didn't seem all that enthusiastic about this creature. She believed that this being damned her cousin's image, his memory - his legacy. This criminal apparently didn't deserve the honor of possessing the man's face or the power attributed to it.

His cousin was the most visibly hurt by the hero's passing. The woman remained stone-cold calm, because all her rage and grief boiled inside. Her husband, through his own personal brokenness, seemed to handle the situation better than how everyone else expected. He became her rock, the one thing keeping her sane through the ordeal. Now that they were both broken, it seemed as if it only pushed them that much closer. The two were inseparable.

She only wished she had that. Someone to hang on to. But her someone fell because her someone and the greatest hero were one and the same. She was surprised she didn't fall with him.

The door slid upwards, a wash of green and gray smoke appeared before her.

Clutching the medical supplies closer to her chest, she searched the room for the figure she intended to see. His headquarters/transportation vehicle was utilitarian in appearance; sterile clean, equipment arranged in an obsessively orderly fashion. Nothing personal. The Galvanic design featuring prominently over the humming machinery. It heartbreakingly reminded her of Ship's own design.

"Staring blankly is such a typical human pastime," stated a frighteningly familiar voice. The shiver that ran down her spine could be blamed on the coldness of the tone. "I have a medic-bot. I require none of your incompetence."

Turning towards the sound, she tried to choke her heart back down from her throat upon seeing the silhouette before her. The outline was similar, slightly more built than she remembered but similar all the same. The hair style also remained the same.

"I'm also here to get the data you collected from the Borders," she explained as calmly as she could despite her thundering heart beat. "And, I'm a little bit more careful than a medic-bot. They don't care about being gentle as long as it gets the job done."

The figure stepped forward, dispersing the smoke from the generators and stepping into the light.

Some part of her was disappointed with the stark-white that replaced the usual brown color of his hair and the red eyes that were in place of green. Nonetheless, she felt her heart flutter at the completely identical facial features he owned. She just wished he wouldn't contort his face with such a cruel expression.

He walked towards the main console to collect the information she needed in a small storage device. Quickly handing the memory stick roughly into her hand, he pressed a button on his remote and pointed towards the slowly opening door. "Now leave," he ordered simply.

He had been watching her through the cameras when she boarded his ship. Even from far away, her presence had made him automatically uncomfortable. After she had entered the room, the feeling only grew. Peering at her face in their current proximity, he silently concluded why. His body was attracted to her. It was a repulsive, instinctual reaction. Through the years of possessing a human body, he was able to learn knowledge on their physiology that he would rather stay innocent of. This was one of those. It made him feel even more disgusting than usual.

She flinched visibly at his tone, her courage seeming to flee her at the treatment. Instead of following his command, though, she only steeled her resolve. Especially when she spotted him forcefully ignoring what would be a very painful wound that seemed to have reopened. Blood was spreading exponentially on the side of his shirt.

"Take off your top," she stated determinedly, opening her toolkit and searching for some antibacterial solution.

"Did you not hear what I said?" he grated irritably, still trying to dismiss the throb of pain on his torso. He thought it was only a reaction from his sudden movement.

"Do you need any help with taking it off?" she asked kindly, staring up at him with caring dark brown eyes.

About to launch into another condescending tirade, his voice sputtered out when she tucked her fingers under the blood drenched shirt and pulled up. She gasped in horror at the sight of his badly stitched wound which was deeper than she believed. A white hint of bone peeked out through the wound.

"You did this yourself, didn't you? You're going to get an infection," she blurted out in concern, her hand gently grazing around the places were the needle had punched through.

He had been too preoccupied with the more alarming situation of the fight against that Chimera Sui Generis's underlings when he had crossed through the Borders. So after being injured extensively, he resolved to patch the wound to be able to live long enough to exit. He escaped with the information that the enemy was going to use against them in offence as well as discreetly filching a number of strategic plans.

Right at the moment, his mind was focusing rather distractedly at the hands pressing gently on his front to sit him on a chair.

"I do not require your assistance," he repeated half-heartedly, his discomfort showing blatantly on his face.

Upon taking note of this, she smiled sweetly to ease his nerves. "Try to relax," she instructed lightly, rubbing her fingers soothingly over the uninjured part of his skin. He forcefully stopped the shudder that travelled through his body. "The tension on your muscles might exacerbate the injury and we can't have that."

Carefully removing the threads with a steady hand, she asked conversationally, "What were you doing when you got wounded?"

"Fighting for this unworthy Universe, as I'm certain you know," he grumbled in a cynical tone, hissing pointedly when she accidentally tugged harder than she wanted to.

"Sorry! Sorry!" she mumbled in a placating way, trying to slow down her trembling hand. His comment had just struck a chord. The unwillingness to help the Universe was the complete opposite attitude of the person whose face he owned. "Why did you have to make the stitches yourself? I thought you had medic-bots?"

"It was rather urgent," he gritted impatiently while she pulled the last part of the thread. "The medic-bots were located here while I was engaged in battle in the Borders."

"Why didn't you have it fixed when you got here?" she questioned, smiling fondly to herself when she heard him curse under his breathe.

"I have only recently arrived," he answered swiftly, his left eye twitching visibly after the response was made.

Giggling behind her hand at his painfully obvious lie, she almost thought that he hadn't changed. Until the dark reality registered and she found herself looking at a broken copy of the man. The smile on her face effervesced.

Returning to her work, she plucked the antibacterial solution and cleansed the wound with it.

"You are a member of the Plumbers organization, aren't you?" he asked curiously, finally breaking the tense silence that settled. Said organization was considerably smaller than it used to be in its heyday. A few headquarters of sorts were situated in hidden locations and he had been to all of them at least once. There was less fear of suggesting the Plumbers's existence unlike a few years ago. That was mostly in part because of his actions. _Not that the wretched ingrates were willing to acknowledge it. _

"Yes, I've been in it for around three years now," she confirmed, the uncertainty in her claim raising her note at the end. The years after his death had blurred together, fighting to survive, saving the innocents and defending them against the expanding tyrannical regime of her hero's greatest enemy. The conquering Chimera Sui Generis had simply decided that the Hero of Heroes simply needed to perish and eventually ignored the device that remained stubbornly on the dead man's wrist. Instead, he continued his campaign of galactic terror, forcing them to seek out the other being able to access the device.

The creator refused to use it himself. So this criminal was forced to use the synchronized tech that he had forged. It was a partially improved version, to assist his mission. Nonetheless, it was still heavily restricted. That wasn't the only means of precaution that was taken.

The woman noted the energy manacles that were barely visible over his wrists, detecting brain waves that would confirm whether he was considering using the device for selfish purposes. Apparently, even unbidden, accidental thoughts that passed through his head in moments of sheer frustration was enough to trigger the torture from the chains.

There was previously a negotiated term between the creator and this criminal. Unfortunately, it was not long before he resisted. He was far too rebellious, too headstrong and independent to remain within the terms of their verbal contract. At some point, the creator increased the measures of his restriction when the new Omnitrix bearer managed to hack into the device. After all, the new Omnitrix wearer made no secret of the fact that he was sick of working with the Plumbers who still regarded him as a criminal. Not to mention, he was disgusted with having to protect such an ungrateful Universe. The fact that he thought so little of other creatures made their reaction even more insulting. Had he been able to return to his original body, he would have disposed of the idea of completing his mission. So restrictions were increased and his negotiation became an outright _punishment_.

Her heart tugged with sympathy at the extreme measures being taken against the creature. It was far more brutal than was necessary. She understood his resentment. The interactions between him and some of the other Plumbers were more than a little volatile, subdued only by his limits. Whatever anger he may have felt for his "colleagues" were then directed at the Hero's enemies. The Plumbers who weren't treating him well was due to the extreme actions he was willing to do to achieve his objective. The more the Plumbers expressed their disagreements - how many arguments -, the more the Galvan-turned-human became aggravated. The fights were counterproductive and worsened the results. It seemed as though none of them could see where the other was coming from.

From what she could see, he was running himself ragged trying to live up to the conditions of his punishment so that he would escape it sooner. He was too proactive so the increased restrictions made him comply in the most obsessive ways possible. However, the Chimera Sui Generis was a difficult one to defeat. Four years on to the punishment and he was still pursuing it.

Carefully and methodically stitching the wound with a clean thread, she assisted the gaping wound to close. It was incredibly comforting to see the bone disappear that she felt herself release a grateful sigh. Binding his torso carefully, she was surprised that he did eventually give up on trying to chase her away.

"Why did you decide to join the organization?" he intruded her thoughts, the startling similarity of his voice with the hero still managing to get to her. "For the gratification of saving your pitiful race?"

She decided to ignore his addition. She had to filter through his comments and fix them inside her mind for a civilized conversation. There was only so much she could take before she dowsed an entire bottle of alcohol on his painful wound. "I thought I should contribute. They, well, we need as much as help as we can get," she responded honestly. "And because I want to help Ben."

Scoffing incredulously, the figure in front of her shook his white-haired head. "This person you speak of has perished," he reminded sharply, realizing that after he had said so her hands had stopped wrapping the bandages on his torso. Her face remained uncomfortably close to his chest while her arms were paused at the back.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she pinched her fingernails against her palms to distract her from the feeling of her heart wrenching.

The curtain of shoulder length black hair shielded most of her features from him that he felt inclined to shift to see. Before he could do anything, she tilted her head down and placed it lightly on his chest. Stunned, he was immobile.

The warmth radiating from his body was just too much for her. All she remembered was the feeling of her love's cold, cold face before being dragged away from his body so that they could run. The force of the memory hurt. Comfort seemed all too available as she sought out his copy's warmth. It fooled her for a while. That was all she needed, a moment to collect herself. But she could never look at his face lest she broke down again.

She wrapped the last roll of bandage around his body without lifting her head from his chest. He must think that she had gone insane because of how intrusive she was being. Cutting the bandage with her fingernails, she pasted the end on with a gentle roll of her finger. It just so happened that her finger was pressing over the small of his back.

A muffled moan escaped his barred teeth, his fingers digging under the chair. Trying to control the natural reactions of his body was a hassle and was never met with much success. He refused to yield to its foolishnesses while he was still imprisoned in it. He mentally cursed the sweat rolling down his temple.

She noticed the sound. The way he stifled it suggested he hadn't wanted her to hear.

Lifting her head away, she said simply, "I know that."

She rose demurely from her chair, watching him evade having to gaze back at her. Politely bowing to him in acknowledgment, she bid, "I'm sorry to have to leave now. But I'll come to replace the bandages regularly."

Still, she was met with silence. When she turned and walked away, she didn't look back. If she had, she would have caught him staring at her retreating figure.

He wondered to himself why he hadn't reminded her of his medic-bots.

* * *

Just exactly like she promised, she returned constantly to replace his bandages and check his current state of health. After a few visits, the stitches were removed in the usual gentle way so that the wound could close naturally. Due to his busy schedule, still in pursuit of conditions of his punishment, he was always acquiring new injuries and aggravating old ones. She was always there, like clockwork, checking old wounds if they had improved and healing new injuries.

He had complained of her presence less with each visit. At some point, he would allow her to have access through his headquarters without having to confirm through the intercom.

None of the other Plumbers raised their hands to help, only when requested would they come. His pride wouldn't allow him to. Her presence there was needed, whether he admitted this to himself or not. After all, she also managed other things he ordered - yes, _ordered _- her to do. She had also become a direct access to the Plumbers that he wouldn't be required to leave the place to face their damning eyes. They always made it seem like he didn't loathe the situation the way they also did. Perhaps he hated it even more.

"It's almost completely healed," she declared happily, checking the wound on his side for what seemed to be the last time. She added teasingly, "Just try not to get nearly killed again so you don't have to put up with me longer."

The jesting had started a while ago, indicating just how long they had been in each other's presence that she was comfortable enough to do so. It wasn't as if they were _friends_; he was still mostly strained around her, unable to forego the incredibly idiotic attraction his body felt. Though she certainly felt that they were friends, since her reaction to his glare was a mere tinkling laugh.

"At least you acknowledge how unbearable you are," he retorted flatly, roughly and petulantly pulling down his shirt after her inspection had finished.

"Hey, you're no slouch on that too," she remarked playfully, wagging her index finger at him as if he was an errant child. She closed the medical kit and placed it on the bench.

"I try," he rejoined, his lips flattened to a thin line. Swivelling his chair to face the console, he began to type the access code on the computer.

Face softening in his direction, she reached her finger to trace his jaw line. His face was just an amazing reminder of the man he looked like. She felt the muscles of his cheeks tense underneath her finger. Once she intruded his personal space again, he had stopped typing altogether.

Reprimanding herself for her unprofessional behavior, she allowed her hand to slide down from his face. She didn't expect her hand to be caught.

His hand was wrapped around hers, presenting it as a damning evidence, and his darkened red eyes stared at her accusingly. He demanded grimly, "Why do you do this?"

"I-I just," she stuttered in humiliation, her face flushing. "You're so... He was..." Her dark brown eyes mellowed. "I just needed to. I'm sorry."

Intelligence came naturally to a Galvan. The conclusion that formed in his mind was almost instinctive. He asked simply, "Who was he to you?"

She looked up at him in confusion.

"Ben Tennyson," he clarified, watching the minute changes in her countenance upon the mention of this most reviled name.

The corner of her lips tugged in nostalgia, though the feelings never did become a memory that she had hoped it eventually would. She answered with no hesitation, "He's my heart." It was such a confidential sharing of her most prized possession. His face wouldn't allow her to lie anyway so she didn't bother.

The puzzle pieces fell into place. If his body was an indication, the attraction was shared. He noted that she didn't speak of her admission in past tense. He also noted that through the exchange, her hand remained in his.

She thought she'd cried so much already; wasted all the tears she needed to release for the years he was gone. Yet here she was, constantly living in the past. Hoping against hope that with this self-imposed job to repair his copy's wounds she would be able to spend more time with a dead man.

Squeezing her eyelids tight, her hand clenched and allowed her to note the callused hand that held it.

Liquid black eyes stared up at him. For the first time, he had no words. What happened next prevented him from releasing words if he did have them. Moist lips on his own, gentle but desperate. The shock had forced his mouth open, allowing her tongue to run on the roof of his mouth.

Panic raced down his veins. With this body, he doubted he could outright kill her. No matter how much he really wanted to. At the very least, he should push her off - roughly if he could conjure the ability to do so, and deter her from actions like this in the future. He would bar her entry from his headquarters and lock himself inside and never, ever accept assistance again.

Black hair brushed against the bare part of his chest when she drew closer, trailing gently over his collar bone. The sound at the back of his throat was instinctive and he had little control left to stop it.

_Pull back now._

Throughout the years, tortured and trapped within a body he didn't own, he stubbornly refused to yield - to sink - to its more disgusting demands. Not that it ever paid much attention to what he wanted. Mornings were particularly difficult. But he dismissed it, with great struggle. There was a sense of victory in the struggle. Though the natural progression shattered any pretences of his control. The filthiness and stench of his human body would return at the forefront of his mind in full force.

The footwear she adorned fell on the floor, her legs rising to place themselves on his thighs. The young woman straddled him, letting go of his hand to run her fingers through his silvery white hair. All the muscles in his body tensed, his spine became ramrod straight. He clutched tightly on the silken fabric of her dress. His own tongue pushed against hers.

_What was he doing? _

He was certain this was the effect of ten years of pent-up frustration. The single-minded drive to remove himself from his plight had been his only desire. The one that he owned separate from the body's and the one he cradled to himself so closely. After being in pursuit of it for ten years - ongoing, the brunt of the body's requirements had become strong enough to topple him over.

Unconsciously tugging her clothing to pull her closer, her dress shifted downwards to reveal her shoulders and the tantalizing curves of her breasts.

His body was _revolting. Repulsive. Sickening._

He felt her thigh brush against the growing hardness between his legs. The way his fingers nervously clamp down tighter on her dress made him feel his own fingernails piercing through the cloth to his palms. Foolishly enough, he hoped she wouldn't notice. He also foolishly hoped he would stop.

With effortless grace, she slid her arms out of the dress. She was no stranger to this. In her lowest moments, she would recall all the times they spent that way, cruelly enough, in someone else's arms. She _did_ try to move on. Perhaps all those years of fighting side by side, helping each other rise when the other fell in battle, made them connect too much. _The way he had been ripped from her_. Five years on and she was still reeling. All the others that followed, she'd raised her defences and distanced herself. Maybe to prevent anymore hurt. But here. Now.

Her hands snaked underneath the shirt he had so petulantly shoved down earlier.

This was wrong. On so many levels. She had heard what he had done to her hero's enemies. The ones who were unfortunate enough to encounter him as the replacement.

_The Forever King_. There were two-hundred six bones in the human body. He doubled the number in this particular human. Four hundred and twelve. The Forever Knights knew the threat when he delivered it personally. He even gave the dragon they wanted. No, not gave. Flung. Something that must have been a dragon. Afterwards, they understood perfectly enough to dispel any foolish thoughts of vengeance.

_Dr. Animo _or_ D'Void_. The one who had unashamedly assisted his currently most powerful enemy. This particular enemy was given an ironic send off. Not human anymore. Trapped in the spliced genetic mess, unable to achieve much, but retaining some semblance of a memory. He was, after all, a physicist and geneticist while the assistant of the genius behind the most powerful device.

_Ghostfreak_. Or maybe it was this enemy's copy or something. They weren't entirely sure. Nonetheless, there were those that watched how he hurled the Ectonurite into a star. Into a star.

Several others. How many copies of the _Vreedle Brothers _did he dispose of simply because he was irritated by their constant tendency to get in the way? Were there any left?

The moan that vibrated in his chest, underneath her hands, distracted her from her thoughts. She peeled those thoughts off of her as easily as she did his shirt. Forget. It was easy when he tasted this good.

Just like he always did.

When she teasingly rubbed her hips against his, he barely registered the grunt of pleasure that escaped his barred teeth. Slowly, her hands trailed down his torso, passing every contour of rippling muscle until she reached his belt. He gyrated his arousal against her feverishly, seeking to release the tension that coiled tighter and tighter at the pit of his abdomen. _More. _

Tracing the smooth skin of her neck with his tongue, one hand pressed against the back of her head while the other frantically helped her remove the offending belt around his waist. Ripped it away. The leather tumbled down the floor.

Moaning, she buried her face into his white hair as his lips slowly descended down her breast. Her arms gripped his back, digging crescents into his skin.

Roughly grabbing her around the waist, he lifted her body and pressed her against the chair he was previously sitting on. Darkened red eyes stared into her. His large hands clutched her wrists painfully on the back of the chair. Lightly gliding her knee on the side of his bare leg, dark brown eyes stared straight back. Begging. _Please._

_This was unconventional. And depraved. Disgusting. _

He acquiesced.

His mouth needily tasted her own as he entered her. Wet. She was so ready it was easy to just slip inside. She gasped into his mouth, bucking her hips into the rhythm he had set.

Intoxicating. The smell of her was enough to drive his mind to a complete blank. The sensation of her soft skin against his body was titillating. Her hands ran through his hair, down his neck and on the muscles of his back that clenched at her touch.

Eyes rolling to the back if his head, his thrusts became uneven and forceful. The pain only served to enhance her pleasure that she spread her legs farther to give him better access. _Harder. Faster. _He was close. Just a bit more. He rocked against her body so forcefully he could have broken her slender body. Both of them couldn't care less.

Back arched, her wisp of a voice gasped, "Ben."

His closed eyes shot open.

In exhaustion, they slumped in each other's arms quietly. No sound was made except for the quiet breathing and the lulling hum of the engine.

From underneath him, she prevented herself from moving. She couldn't face him. Inside her head, she beat herself for her weakness.

She absolutely hated herself. No one else would feel the force of her betrayal more than herself. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. With her eyes closed, the prickling seemed less likely to become full-fledged tears.

Boring imaginary holes into the smooth black and green design of the chair, he refused to look at her. He closed his eyes upon noting the reflection staring back him.

In place of red, she saw green.

It was no matter. He saw the same. That was why there no mirrors in the headquarters, lest he mangled his knuckles punching through them. The shadows that this body created were long enough to beleaguer him. Her face was just another reminder.

Ever since he placed the forged Omnitrix on his wrist, he was destined to live under _his_ shadow.

* * *

_Author's Notes: _What? You actually expected this pairing to work out without it being unhealthy, disturbing and psychologically tormenting for both parties? Yeah, no.

Okay, that's horrible…

EDIT: Fixed and revamped for the purpose of cleaning up own story's continuity errors and loose ends to introduce the prequel chapter. Hope it makes better sense this way. The original conception of this fic was to acknowledge the twisted nature of this pair as well as create a correlation between death and sex to emphasize that point.


End file.
